


The Rainy Season

by StrangerThanDiction



Category: Mamamoo
Genre: Comfort/Angst, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:00:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23291338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrangerThanDiction/pseuds/StrangerThanDiction
Summary: Angsty Mamamoo oneshots, because who doesn't love pain.
Relationships: Ahn Hyejin | Hwasa/Jung Wheein, Kim Yongsun | Solar/Moon Byulyi | Moonbyul
Comments: 12
Kudos: 110





	1. Lethargy // Moonsun

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys are staying safe and healthy! I wrote this to fight off the quarantine boredom.

Byulyi isn’t the type of person that bodes well with being trapped. She needs options of activities and sports and friends lest she get bored. With boredom comes loneliness and the unwelcome thoughts that tag behind like loneliness’ shadow.

She sits cross legged on her bed listening to the pit patter of raindrops dancing against her roof as she goes through her list of contacts for the fourth time. She wants to invite someone over yet worries she’ll intrude on their rare freetime or interrupt their busy lives. The thoughts stop her from sending a text. The more she scrolls through the blurring names, the more lonely she feels. So many “contacts” but no one to talk to.

Byulyi tosses her phone to the other side of the bed in frustration and glares at the dimming screen until it darkens completely.

Groaning, she buries her palms into her eyes and slides off of the bed. “Don’t be pathetic.” She mutters to herself, lightly slapping her cheeks to perk herself up. She slips on her slippers and pads around her apartment looking for something to do.

It’s still clean from a few days ago when Yong had visited. Byulyi teased her saying that she only brings her around for the free maid service once a week. Yong retorted by saying she should charge her rent for practically living in her apartment. Byulyi had shut up after that.

She smiles at the memory and sets a pot of water to boil on the stove for ramen. The Kim household hadn’t been available for the past few days because of visiting relatives. Sometimes it surprised her how much being away from Yong for even a short time put a damper on her mood. 

Byulyi sits in a chair at her kitchen table stiffly and waits for the water to heat up. Only the ticking of the analog clock and the humming refrigerator interrupts the violent silence of the kitchen. She wishes she’d turned on the tv or grabbed her phone before she sat down. Now that she’s here she feels lethargic, glued by the seat of her pajama pants.

Sometimes when she feels this way the world grows hazy and her mind feels very far away from her body like it’s floating away on a cloud. That simile at least makes the dissociation seem comforting even though it’s anything but.

At times like this she feels like she doesn’t exist and she’s drifting away too.

The water in the pot is boiling over the sides now and Byulyi rushes over to turn it off. From the water pooled on the stovetop, it’s evident it’s been like that for a while. She hadn’t even noticed.

She leaves the pot where it is, any ounce of hunger she might have had evaporated along with the water, and trudges back to her bedroom. She grabs her phone set on messaging anyone when she sees the notifications light up onto her screen.

_(3) Missed Calls: Ddun_

Byulyi taps it immediately and anxiously drums her fingers against the bed as the phone rings on and on.

“Hello?”

“Yong!” She sits straight up in bed. “Are you okay? You called?”

“I’m fine Byulyi, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.” Just the sound of Yong’s voice relieves some of the tension in her and she sinks back down onto her comforter. “I was just thinking about you. Are you alright?”

Byulyi hesitates slightly, the easy lie of _I’m fine_ stands ready on the tip of tongue, but she’s unwilling to completely lie to Yong. “I’m…okay. A little lonely.”

“Ah.”

“I do realize it’s completely irrational for me to feel this sad, I mean lonely, over being alone for literally a day but—”

“Slow down, Byul. It’s not irrational, it’s how your mind works.” Although she doesn’t respond, she breathes a little easier. It’s always nice to hear outside reassurance. “What’re you doing right now?”

“Just lying on my bed.”

“We’re going to practice our little head-emptying exercise.” Byulyi groans. “You know, the one that was so important to you that you got it tattooed on your ankle.”

“It wasn’t meant to be literal.”

“Humor me.”

“You know I only do this because I love you.” She squirms her body towards the edge of the bed like a worm. “I look so stupid.”

“Literally who is going to see you, Byul?”

She glances at the framed photo hanging over her dresser, “Both Wheein and Hwasa are bearing witness. They’re judging me from above.”

“Just do it, dork.”

Byulyi wiggles some more until her head and shoulders hang over the side of her bed. Her bangs fall back and out of sight and she stares firmly at a spot on her wall so as not to get nauseated.

“I’m doing it.”

Yong takes on the voice of a licensed therapist, “How do you feel?”

“My head feels heavy.” Her voice comes out a little strained from the tautness in her throat. “It’s probably from all of the blood rushing into it.”

“Those are your worries, anxieties, and loneliness pooling into the top of your skull,” Yong corrects softly. “The pressure builds the more you hold onto them.”

The center of Byulyi’s forehead is definitely tingling and her cheeks begin to feel like heavy weights pressing against her face.

“Yep, this is what pain feels like.”

“Now, sit up and let it all go.”

She shifts her butt further back onto the bed and scrambles her way upright. A wave of dizziness hits as her blood balances itself back out into her body.

“How do you feel now?” Yong asks.

“Like simply talking to you did a lot more than me hanging upside down.” Byulyi rubs her forehead. “It gives me an ice cream headache.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’ll just remind me of you all day.”

Yong scoffs over the phone. “I can hear that stupid grin you have on your face right now.” And Byulyi was indeed smiling hard enough that her nose crinkled from the force of it. “I’ve gotta go now. Lunch is ready, but I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Your family’s leaving early?”

“No,” Yong says a bit forcefully, “I just miss you, so I’m going to visit.” Byulyi’s grin stretches further across her face. “Before you start: stop.”

“Aw, I miss you too, Ddun!” she coos into the phone.

“I gotta go.” Yong sighs, but the smile is clear in her voice. “I love you, Byul. Bye.”

“I love you m—” The line goes dead.

Byulyi snorts and makes a mental note to get back at Yong for her rudeness tomorrow. She stands up once again, some of that lurking sadness ebbing away with each throb of her forehead.

She hopes her ramen water is still warm.


	2. Inspiration // Wheesa

Wheein feels the spark while lying down, half-asleep on the worn leather couch in her living room: the all-encompassing desire to create.

It causes her to sit upright with her dark brown eyes wide and alert. The image has impressed itself on her eyelids and everytime she blinks it comes to her, vibrant and mosaic in the darkness.

Scrambling onto her feet, she slips down her apartment’s hallway. She passes the ajar door where a visiting Hyejin sleeps soundly, exhausted from her busy schedule, and into the tiny hall closet she uses to host her art supplies.

She’d come to stay for a while because Wheein hadn’t been feeling well lately. Sometimes life has its way of bearing down on her in ways that she couldn’t entirely control and Hyejin had come to keep her company. But most importantly, she’d brought plenty of food with her.

Wheein takes a plastic box of pastels and graphite pencils from the lower shelf and then, glancing around for witnesses, slips onto her tippy-toes to reach the stack of ingres paper she keeps on the upper shelf. She grabs a few pieces and stealthily sneaks out of the closet, shutting the door softly behind her.

“Wheein-ah,” Hyejin’s soft, tired voice comes from behind her, startling her enough that she almost drops her supplies. “It’s two in the morning, what’re you doing?”

Wheein turns slowly, guilty, towards Hyejin’s groggy shadow in the guest bedroom’s doorway. Without her extensions in, her dark hair falls messily onto her shoulders.

“Why’re you awake?”

“I heard a little mouse ruffling through the closet.” Her fingers rub into her eyes. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I need to draw,” Wheein urges. “I was nearly asleep, I swear, but then this image came to me and I have to draw it before I forget.”

Hyejin seems to stare at her in silence for so long that Wheein is afraid she’s fallen asleep upright with her eyes open. She shifts anxiously on the balls of her feet.

“Hyej-”

“Yep! I’m awake.” Her mouth stretches with a long yawn. “Don’t stay up too much later Wheeny. Okay?”

Wheein rolls her eyes. “Yes eomma.”

Hyejin waves her off, turning back into the room and closes the door fully this time. Wheein scampers back into the living room and lies her things down onto the carpet.

She needs blue. Not just blue, though. A soft aquamarine reminiscent of the untouched waters of some foreign island. A vibrant shade of green that makes up the illusive rainforests of the Amazon jungle.

If there is such a thing as peace, she wishes to discover it through the effects of her thoughts channeling onto the pages of her notebook. It’s the only thing that can calm her some days.

While some unleash emotions in sharp hits to a punching bag or fierce typing in word documents, Wheein sees the act of creation as one of the purest forms of release. She has the ability to produce something beautiful or hideous that abstractly reflects the way she feels inside despite everything battering her from the outside.

Allowing her hands to lead the way, her mind goes on autopilot in her half-dazed sleepiness as she scribbles in curving lines and smears blotches of color onto the page. She intently works until she slows and the heaviness on her lids weighs too much for her to continue.

She slips into sleep while leaning against the front cushions of the couch, a sunshine yellow pastel loosely held in her grip, her mouth ajar.

Wheein wakes with a start and a blanket slips down off of her shoulders. She’s on the couch, but she doesn’t remember falling asleep there.

The pads of her fingers message her swollen eyes as she tries to push past the early morning grogginess clouding her focus.

“And once again, coffee is the smelling salt equivalent to rousing Jung Wheein into consciousness.”

She waves off Hyejin’s quip, squinting around the bright room for her drawing from last night, but finding it nowhere in sight. Even her pastels and notebook have vanished. Hyejin takes a sip from her coffee with her eyebrows raised in her direction.

Wheein uses a hand to comb back the straggling black hair falling over her face. “Where is it?”

“Good morning sunshine,” Hyejin coos with a bright smile. “Exactly how many hours did you sleep last night?”

“Enough.” She kicks her legs over the side of the couch and arches her back into a stretch. “Where is it?”

“I hung it up on the refrigerator.”

“You really are my eomma. But I wasn’t finished.”

“It’s a very beautiful drawing as is Wheein. You really have a talent for these things.”

Wheein slides her eyes over to the genuine expression on Hyejin’s face and looks away. “Yeah well, thanks. I thought of you when I drew it.”

“What’s the drawing of? I mean, I know it’s abstract—”

“I dunno. Peace, maybe? It’s just…” She stares down at her hands clasped in her lap. Aquamarine stains the crescents of her nails. “Thinking about it made me happy and drawing it almost made me feel as if I was putting that emotion into something tangible.”

Hyejin nods. “You mean the way I feel when I’m around you.”

“Aish! Stop it.”

She just smiles at Wheein’s embarrassment. “I made you eggs.”

“You should’ve led the conversation with that.” She cracks a grin at Hyejin’s annoyed expression. “Thank you, Hyejinie. I don’t know what I’d do without you sometimes.”

“I know.”

Wheein rolls her eyes with amusement as she walks down her apartment’s hallway to the kitchen. As promised, on the stainless steel refrigerator is her sloppy drawing of light pastels blended and scrawled across the paper. It nearly looks like a splatter of color that a baby vomited onto the fiber, but there’s something in the arrangement of the hues that pleases her.

Maybe it’s the way that the yellow splotches seep into the aquamarine puddles, or the way violet speckles against the grass green shade in the background. Perhaps it’s the frame of brown scribbles that waggle their way along paper’s perimeter like Hyejin doing one of her silly dances. 

Two stenciled stick figures hold hands in the bottom corner of the drawing, nearly fading into the sea of color.

Wheein smiles softly as she fixes her plate.


	3. Courage // Mamamoo

Hyejin barely felt the arrow pierce her side.

They've become similar to numbing pinches,

fighting for attention with snide remarks and

beaming with pride if she deigns to wince in pain.

The marksmen never show their cowardly faces,

only fire down safely from behind the clouds

hoping to hit their target. They are mercenaries:

paid to wound and kill—they don't need any

reason. She waits out the attack, assesses the

damage, and proceeds with her day. Sometimes

she remains unharmed, other days it's a scratch

or mortal wound that leaves her questioning if

somehow she's responsible for these attacks.

Wheein leaves the candle lit at night to fend

off the darkness that threatens to enclose her

when she sleeps, vulnerable. The light warms

her skin, but she feels as if the twilight already

shrouds her heart, plaguing her soul and mind

with menacing thoughts. Like an outsider peering

in, she knows she smiles less. Somedays she's

an ant being scrutinized under the lens of a

magnifying glass, scurrying from the concentrated

beam of fiery judgement. Her movements are

measured now, she's robotic underneath all of

the assessing gazes watching for her slip ups.

Byulyi surrounds herself with bodies to

shield from the looming loneliness that

huddles sinisterly in the gloomy corners

of her apartment. Accumulating profit,

it's a tangible goal that occupies dragging

days with purpose. Work harder and longer,

lest the bed become a prison of lethargy and

the phone a dystopia of media which

refreshes infinitely and traps victims in

its beauties and horrors. Show yourself

brightly and unapologetically; take adversity

with a grain of salt; bring more leashes next time.

Yongsun keeps many personal aspects close

to her chest and instead solely assumes the weight

of leadership, unfaltering and without questioning,

even as her shoulders hunch with the load of

caring, protecting, and embarrassing those

under her charge. Despite her inner feelings:

smile bright enough to infect those who are

nearby and, similarly, speak up to defend

those under her protection. Let the mask you

show the world beam, lest it become a Pierrot.

Like a mother: love with no expectations, warm

while feeling cold, and ask for nothing in return.

Together, find solace within one another.

Unfounded hate pricks and bleeds tender

skin like mosquitoes. Ignorance and jealousy

hover like heavy smog over beautiful cities—

produced easily enough, though much harder

to be rid of— clustered in condensed clouds

that mar and make it hideous. It does not hide,

for it wants to be seen. It flourishes from attention.

Wear a mask to filter its harm from reaching

your lungs, and it'll gladly sting your eyes instead.

Courage is knowing the risk, but going outside to

enjoy your day anyway. It's being yourself without

fear of the arrows' retaliation or the sneering faces

who hate your success and your 'differences'. It's

knowing when to raise your voice and when to

silence it. It's acknowledging the smog's short-

lived reign while knowing that the authority

it holds now will evaporate one day. We live

happily through today, because we know

that we're going to make it to one day.

**\---**

_"Expect trouble as an inevitable part of life, and when it comes, hold your head high, look it squarely in the eye and say, 'I will be bigger than you. You cannot defeat me.'"_ ― Ann Landers


End file.
